


if found please call

by Hydra_Trash_Gal



Series: Winter’s Keepers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Assets & Handlers, Dehumanization, Fluff, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Protective Jack Rollins, mentions if violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_Trash_Gal/pseuds/Hydra_Trash_Gal
Summary: Winter has a job to do and damn it all if it’s not done properlyorJack and Brock find a stray on the fire escape and bring in from the cold for a talk on being weird





	if found please call

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Please enjoy this little fic I cooked up about Winter. Please let me know what you think! Not beta-read so all mistakes are my own

Once a machine he was now three men: the Soldier, Winter, and James 'Bucky' Barnes. The last persona was new and strange. When the assassin managed to slip free of the prying eyes around him he wound up at the Smithsonian.

It was like a shrine, he always thought with a sort of muted sorrow. He read of all the things Barnes had done, what he had given and lost, when he had died and how much he meant to Captain America — but he insisted on being called Steve. He would stay until the display closed and then slip around the metal detector (his arm made travel within the city complicated but he had all his Ghost talents). He always walked the back roads, feeling the air get cooler as dusk fell around him. 

He felt like a piece of lint, fallen randomly down at a point in time and he had no understanding of why or how. All he had were thoughts, crushing and consuming. He had words that made him into someone else. Various triggers that would need to be decommissioned before he would ever truly be free. 

When he was a machine he didn't think freedom could apply to him. Barnes had given his life for the freedom cause and Captain America once represented it. But he had found the Soldier in the small Romanian apartment, skimmed through his hardly coherent thoughts and snippets of the past — a past that wasn't the Soldier’s — and had broken many laws. 

His head felt full, achingly so, but nothing that it produced helped. 

Sometimes when they were understandable they caused him such deep pain he wished he hadn't remembered. He didn't want to recover anymore memories but Steve made such a point about it. Steve, the Soldier thought, was a past Handler of Barnes. He resided within Barnes body so that explained the strange weakness he had around him; the fact he was able to abort his mission and Hydra’s programming.

Steve had taken him, broken and confused and dangerous to a high tower where Anthony Stark's surviving son gave them endless resources to help get him better. He hadn't remembered the mission until he saw the tape; afterward he expected Tony to make an attempt on his life. Instead he had spoken to him, calmly with all the fairness that Pierce offered. As if they were equals. 

"Why did you kill them?" Tony had asked.

"Orders." He said back because why else would he do anything? 

"Okay." Tony had a strange look on his face, muted anguish like he wanted to be angry but somehow couldn't get to that point of fury. 

Winter glanced around the empty street. He made sure his hood was secure and began to climb up the fire escape with impressive speed and ease for being out of practice since his arrival. 

Winter spent many evenings crouched at the window. He had good cover and the gap in the curtains gave his sniper eyes a clear shot of the open plan living room and a portion of the kitchen. Winter didn't want to hurt anyone; he just liked to watch. He asked the man in the walls to track them, using the override code he heard Tony mutter one day when he was crawling through the vents. 

The man in the walls did not live in the vents so he felt safe in there. 

Steve always worked out for three hours and then took a long shower, where his breath would grow deep and eventually hitch unevenly, before bed. The Soldier never said he was leaving but it hadn't been forbidden. Such lapses in control wouldn't have been tolerated with his past Handler but this Steve expected differently of the Asset. From the Soldier's research he gauged Bucky Barnes to be fearless in the face of insubordination. Steve confirmed these theories with wistful recounts of the man's past encounters. Things the Soldier would have never normally done were accomplished by James Barnes.

It wasn't Barnes rested against the cold side panels of the apartment, it was Winter. He had grown from the Commander's steady unyielding hand; firm but rarely unjust. Winter understood the Commander far better than Bucky understood Steve. 

(The Asset didn't understand either of them and often felt overwhelmed)

Winter had sensitive hearing but he focused on the baritone closest to him. "...ain't fuckin' right s'all I'm saying." There was a bit of a drawl to the voice, tired, frustrated and slurred by a lazy tongue that learned proper speech later than his peers: Rollins.

When the Asset first came to the Tower Tony gave him picture books meant for children describing emotions. Bucky had been a human so he was allowed to express emotions; Winter thought of the stick figures playing together. He remembered the avid attention he had shown when Jack taught him to eviscerate someone properly during an interrogation. That was like playing right? Winter thought it was. Rollins could handle a knife as if it was an extension of his own hand, on par (and even better, much to the Asset's sheer horror) with him. He was a silent man for the most part, solemn and unshaken even after the most frightening of encounters. 

During lapses in Winter's programming when he was erratic that voice centered him. Slow and unhurried because when he spoke too quickly his words ran together and got a funny sound to them. Midwestern, the Soldier suspected but never asked. He was Second in Command, his Handler if the Soldier failed to keep the Commander safe or if he was assigned to him. However Winter still listened to him whenever he could so long as he wasn't directly violating the orders of his Commander.

"Pay up bitch." Gruff but amused, the tone was shrouded with a pointed arrogance that made Winter feel safe.

It felt as if he'd accomplished a particularly difficult mission and now the world was safer and he no longer needed to be on alert. In the past the Soldier's Handlers had all seemed very similar: massive men, nearly the size of the Soldier, sadistic and cruel. They saw him as a weapon and, when they had been drinking and no pressing matters were at risk, a toy to be touched and violated. Winter felt cold inside, as if he was stepping into cryo. The memories had faded away with wipes but now, in the absence of the painful darkness, came wrenching images that Winter wanted to forget. 

But his Commander wasn’t like them. 

He was top of the line, the absolute best of the best and that was why he was given the privilege to wield the Weapon and how he clammored to the head position of STRIKE Team Alpha. He was smaller than most of his men and some of the women but he carried himself as if he was taller than even the Soldier. Even in the face of a lapse with Winter snarling down at him there was never fear in those warm brown eyes; just disappointment. 

Winter had realized quickly that in the absence of abuse, the need to please was fostered. It became important that he not see that look again. He tried to please Rumlow by touching him in the juncture between the thighs: engorging the flesh until fluid was released, a task that was important and necessary for handlers to function properly as his last Handler told him. They were held up by the weather. Two days in the cabin became a week. The Commander woke to this and showed extreme displeasure, even striking the Soldier across the face which was a rather lame punishment physically but it felt like he had been winded.

The Soldier needed a wipe so he had lapsed a bit, grown confused. His heartbeat and breathing were erratic and he made sounds against his will as fluid leaked from his optical orifices. Winter could still see the hazy image of the Commander sitting up, through his tears, dark hair rumples out of its quiff by sleep, grease and lack of product. The Soldier had tried to make himself small, upset by what he had tried to do and even more upset by the refusal. The Commander hadn't hit him again, just rubbed his own face and said feeble words of comfort. He had gotten Rollins who calmed him enough to understand the protocol he was attempting to fulfill.

The Commander had sworn a colorful spew of vulgarity toward the deceased Handler (bad info in the Ukraine, the Soldier was not yet thawed) and erased the handling. It wasn't a real reset, he didn't have the ability, proper clearance or equipment but told him it didn't apply. He even patted the Soldier's shoulder while sobs burst of him unevenly against the muzzle, muffled but not indistinguishable. Just thinking of that contact, back when the Soldier both arched into it and felt the fragile glass ceiling of his brain crack, warmth flooded through him. He wanted to be the walls around the Commander and his Second, to support them in the subtle way they made Winter into something closer to a person than a mindless machine. 

"Not givin' ya shit." Rollins set two dark bottles in the sink and leaned against it. 

He was darkly handsome, green eyes shining brightly in the poor kitchen lighting. The scar from stray shrapnel was bright against his shaved chin. Dark sweatpants were slung low on chiseled hips: there was no question why the Commander cared so deeply for him. Jack seemed out of place without his tactical gear and a weapon resting near. The Soldier respected him for his agility and prowess just as much as he feared him.

When correction was needed, when the Soldier malfunctioned and caused the team harm or threatened the Commander, Rollins was fierce and unyielding. When he confronted a target and was able to take a personal kill, he relished in it. Even the Commander had seemed a bit uncomfortable at times, heart rate quickening, the scent of fear in his sweat growing significantly. But Rollins never harmed the Commander or his team or Winter unless ordered. He was still soothed to see him. 

He wondered for a moment if this was why Steve seemed to appear around the Tower. Hanging in the shadows, watching him, looking at Bucky who Winter had to become. It felt a bit easier now; he had learned things to say, insults that the Captain smiled at. He understood most of his team better. Thor, Barton, Romonav, Banner, Stark and the rest. 

But tonight he wasn't Bucky; he was Winter, looking after what remained of the only family he'd known. The Commander stalked in and Winter's lips twitched in that strange way of expressing fondness. When the Trisk came down Rollins had pulled Rumlow to safety but there was some slight scaring on the side of his face. It wasn't one of melted flesh and shiny skin like the other burn victims suffered. It was a rugged look, handsome — Winter found himself supplying. 

The Commander kept his back toward the window as he faced up to Rollins, arms crossed over his burly chest. Closer to the opposite end of the counter there were weights and a punching bag. The Commander was keeping mission ready even though they said he could not work for Hydra anymore. It seemed disheartening and promising all at once. "You're gonna cheat me now? The Patriots suck, accept it."

Rollins looked stern a moment before he grinned. Such explicit expressions of emotion were never acceptable within the field so it was almost unnerving to see. "Fine." 

Rollins gripped the Commander's arms and pulled him closer to his body. The Soldier felt on edge, heart beat picking up. They touched during missions too. Comrades were friendly, it was important and fostered relationships. But they touched in other ways too. Steve had tried to explain it after a film depicted it and Bucky (well, Winter trying to be Bucky for Steve) had expressed views typical of his time. Banner and Stark had seemed a bit astonished and Steve had been quick to correct him. 

Bucky had to learn that such things were okay in this time.

Winter needed to learn that the Commander was safe and Rollins wasn't hurting him. 

Those thoughts took home in his memory; he was remembering his old Commander and all the things had thought were okay. The hard lines of Rumlow's shoulder slouched and he let himself fall against Rollins — but bodies can betray you. Even a Weapon's body. 

With a squealing noise, a portion of the fire escape railing collapsed beneath his hand. The agents snapped apart and produced weapons (no weapons are to be had until completion of probation, the judge had said). Winter dunked down and glanced toward the cement below.

He could do it. Escape and go back to the Tower. His heart rate was increased and he was so angry with himself for making such a mistake. He was the Winter Soldier, a known assassin and he couldn't even observe properly anymore! 

Winter was not as a good as the Soldier at field work. "Put down the fuckin' gun Brock." Rollins grunted and the window was wrenched open. "Winter, is that you?"

"Winter!" Rumlow sounded worried and livid all at once. "The fuck is the Asset doing here?"

Winter's face felt warm as he rose from his crouch against the wall. Closer to the men he had missed.

(he had missed them; just like the book when the girl's mother went away on the trip — she had fun with her family but it wasn't the same without her mother; that was okay, it was human to miss those around you)

Warm air from the apartment bloomed against his skin. He was dressed in dark colors, arm concealed beneath the hoodie. He didn't dare make eye contact afraid of whatever punished awaited him. Bucky wasn't punished by Steve but sometimes he was given strange, tame, warm verbal lashings that Stark always chuckled about when he overheard. "Got a Steve lecture huh? Don't worry about it Buckeroo, we all get them occasionally." 

"The fuck are you doing here Soldat?" Brock spit.

It felt so good to hear it. His entire body tightened up automatically, programming refreshed and falling into place. "Observation Commander."

Rumlow didn't say anything. Just exhaled heavily and adjusted his weight. The sound of him flicking the safety on his gun was loud and sharp. The Soldier was back where he belonged, accepting orders. Winter however was antsy and wanted to talk to the Commander about everything he had learned, every question he had, about having to play a dead man for his new Handler. He wanted to ask to stay. 

"Are you cold?" 

"Functional." The Soldier retorted curtly to Rollins. Winter pushed against the programming with terrifying ease. "But yes."

The Commander snorted. Winter remembered back at one of the safe houses he was asked if he was cold. His entire body was on the verge of hypothermia and he said yes. The Commander gave up his own lining to warm him; he was a good Commander. "Get your ass in here I guess." The Commander sounded upset still but that was fine; he had spoiled his own observation but hopefully it would show them that his programming was breaking down due to Steve's poor Handling.

Winter came into the apartment at times. When he could hear their deep breathing and was well aware they were asleep. He liked how it felt, how it smelled. Like gun oil, like Axe, like them. It made him think of Hydra, the only real things he could depend on. Rollins glanced around out the window before he closed it and pulled the curtains. Winter stood awkwardly a moment then chanced a glance up to Rumlow.

He was pale but his lips drawn to a snarl. "Does the Captain know where you are?" He sneered. 

"Negative." They weren't even supposed to know he was here. "You cut your hair."

The snarl faded into a small frown. "How long have you been watching us?" Rollins was back to leaning against the sink. His face was impassive and unreadable.

"Today or in the past?"

"Mother of Christ." Brock rubbed a hand over his face. "We're being stalked by an assassin. You here to finish us off?"

The ferocity confused Winter. "Why. Would I? You're my Commander. You need to be safe." He was doing his job, wasn't he? 

The ex-Hydra agents fell silent, having a silent discussion of facial tics and small noises. Winter had observed it plenty — mostly when they both reached for the TV remote or held two different take out menus. "Winter, you know you don't need to call him that anymore right?" Jack asked, tone a bit softer.

"Don't call him that," Brock shot.

"I like it." Winter wasn't supposed to ask for things but...he had orders of trying to become a person. Maybe they would be aware. "I like Winter."

Brock squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Fine, fucking fine." Winter felt scorned, like he had accidentally mixed up his roles: acting like Bucky when he was supposed to be the Solider. "Why are you here Winter? Revenge?"

Revenge: vengeance due to a perceived wrong. Winter didn't feel wronged by the agents looking at him. "Negative. I..." Winter paused. He thought again of the girl, smiling on one page with her brother and father at the table but on the next frowning and looking at a letter from her mother. "I think I miss you."

Rumlow scoffed. "You didn't miss us," he spit seeming far angrier. "What are you really doing here? Is Cap going to come in here and beat the shit out of us like I know he wants to?"

"Steve doesn't know I'm here." Winter blurted. "He would be very, ah, displeased I think."

Rollins pushed off the sink, eyes narrowed and completely on alert. He was gauging the soldier the way he gauged a room after clearing it out: searching for a possible threat. "You're thinking a real lot now huh?" Rumlow said meanly. "Go home Winter."

"I can't," Winter was confused. "It's been compromised. Steve tells me Hydra is gone. I...I haven't been reset or placed in cryo."

"Jesus H," Rumlow ran things through his hair, disturbing the strands. "Hydra is done. You're wearing a wire aren't you? Fuck you, we're not part of them anymore."

"I know." Winter felt confused and each breath was hard. He wanted the Commander to instruct him again. What to do, how to do it, when it needed to be done. "He wants me to be someone I'm not Commander. I...I don't know how to be a person and I know I failed you as a Weapon but if you give me another chance I won't fail."

Winter couldn't kill Steve. What was he saying? The Commander had another silent discussion with Rollins and seemed to lose. He made a frustrated noise and stalked to the next room. Winter wanted to follow, check the rest of the apartment properly for any security risks. "Winter, sit down. We need to have a chat."

"A mission briefing?" The relief was like ice spiderweaving through him. It hurt but the pain was familiar. It felt nice to finally have something work as he sought it to." 

"Sort of. Sit down." Rollins gestured to the table. Two chairs— it was best for the Commander to have a seat. 

"The Commander," Winter began.

"Don't care me that!" Came thundering from the other room.

"I'm sorry Sir."

"He's fine," Rollin assured him. "So you're here because you miss Brock?"

Slowly Winter sat, body stiff; the informal setting was fine. Nothing had been formal since the bridge. "And Agent Rollins." Winter's face colored and Rollins shifted a bit uncomfortably. "It's against programming to have preferences but... My current Handler is not utilizing this Weapon, it's malfunctioning and requires intervention."

Rollins nodded his head curtly. "So you came back here, to us, because you're looking for Hydra?"

"I... They own the Weapon," Winter knew using pronouns upset the past Handler. He wasn't a person, he was a machine, a vessel that carried death. "No one else is authorized for repairs. Except for the Commander and his designated Second."

"Hydra has been dismantled," Rollins reminded him and Winter shrunk down some. "But you know that."

"I don't know what's real." He admitted. "It's a malfunction and it-it will be fixed with a wipe."

Technicians could help him; his Commander could find someone. He didn't need to be decommissioned; he'd find a use. "I'm not a doctor," Rollins said flatly. "Have you talked to Steve about your confusion?"

"He's not a proper Handler." He hadn't said activation codes; he did not control Winter properly. When given reports of malfunctions he got a sad smile and softly spoken words but nothing that fixed him. "He wants to be someone I'm not."

"James Barnes." Rollins knew because he knew everything. Winter felt some pressure abate. He would have a solution, he always did. "You're James Barnes."

"No," Winter felt sick and he could see a small brown haired girl. "No, I'm Winter."

"You once were Barnes," Rollins told him, "You're not the same person though and Rogers gets that."

"He calls me Bucky." Winter's voice caught. His mouth twisted up, no longer hidden behind the muzzle. He missed it, oddly enough. The anonymity, the pressure against his jaw keeping his emotions safe. "It..."

"It was your name once." Rollins wasn't helping. Winter felt unsteady again. "Have you asked Steve to call you something else if you don't like it?"

"You can disagree with your Handler." Winter echoed the rule branded into his mind from the very beginning. It felt solid and real. Like Soldat and that small blue eyed man who wasn't Steve though he tried to say he was. "I'm not Bucky or James or Barnes or..."

Anyone. Machines don't have names, they have titles. Winter Soldier. "You've said that a few times now." Rollins got up suddenly but waved him down he was tried to stand as well. He got a brown bottle from the fridge and a large glass of water. The water was placed in front of the Winter who was grateful. Steve always made him ask and pretended as if he could just 'help himself'. "Drink. Let's put all this Hydra and identity shit behind us for a second. I know you're learning how to be a human but it's not okay to watch people."

Winter wondered if this was a joke because he didn't understand humor. "Explain parameters."

Rollins smiled wearily. "I know we used to watch people and targets but that's really only okay when it's to do with missions. Even if you know someone you should never looking into someone's windows without them knowing it." 

"What if I've gained entry?"

Rollins put the bottle down with a sharp sound. "The fuck? No! Winter, don't be creep is what I'm saying."

Winter did not find these parameters to be within his understanding but nodded his head. "Okay. Am I allowed here?" Winter adjusted the plating on his arm nervously. What would he do if the one place he felt most comfortable didn't want him? 

"Brock, quit your fucking pouting and get in here. He ain't gonna murder us s'far as I can tell." Rollins took a drink and watched the Commander skulking in. "He wants to know if he's allowed to come back?"

"We're not Hydra anymore and neither are you. Tough shit." Brock snapped. "You wanna come over here? Knock on the fucking door. I don't want any of your Avengers buddies coming over here, understand?" 

"Affirmative." Winter was smiling, like the little girl in the book. Like he was looking down at that scrawny not all bruised up and scowling because he had lost the fight and Bucky had to interfere. "Thank you Commander."

"Don't call me — whatever," Brock glowered down at him. "So Steve is letting off the short leash huh?"

Steve. His shower was over. Winter stood and Brock flinched. "I need to go back. He'll... He'll worry."

"Like a fucking mother hen," Brock sneered. "Well get going."

Winter didn't want to leave. He bit his lip. "You'll be here tomorrow?"

"I don't plan on moving because you're obsessed with me." The Commander sneered. "Get going."

He pulled open the front door and Winter glanced at them. "Thank you." He said and he really meant it.


End file.
